


Feline Company

by EvelynThursday



Series: Feline Company [1]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Animal Death, Athos has a cat, Gen, Ghosts, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-11
Updated: 2015-10-31
Packaged: 2018-04-25 19:55:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4973980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EvelynThursday/pseuds/EvelynThursday
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A cat adopts Athos. Only it’s not a normal cat. How else could it escape from a locked room?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Meetings

**Author's Note:**

> Technically AU since the showing of season two but set after season 1 (it's only taken me over a year to write!). If you think this story is going to be a cute one about Athos and a cat I’m afraid you are mistaken. It starts off cute (or at least I hope it does) but then it takes a right turn and gets a bit weird. The tags give a clue about what is going to happen.
> 
> I tried to find a cat that was a native breed in France. I didn't get any further than Wikipedia. The cat is a Birman, whose origins are unknown but was first documented in France in 1919, so let’s just imagine they were brought to France by traders before then and could be found during the time of the Musketeers. 
> 
> I’m going to try and update this every Saturday as it is mostly finished.

The first time Athos saw the cat he thought he was hallucinating. He had just drunk several bottles of strong wine and was staggering across his empty room when he spotted a pale shape with glowing blue eyes staring at him from beside the dresser. It looked like a cat, but it couldn’t be as his window and door had been shut since the early hours of the (by now yesterday) morning and there certainly wasn’t any wildlife in there when he left, locking the door behind him on his way to the garrison. He shrugged and tried to ignore the staring eyes; he had hallucinated before in his drunken state, but never any animals.

Making it to the bed, he rid himself of his weapons, and his leather jacket and boots. Slumping sideways so he was lying down he blinked lazily at the cat, who didn’t move from its spot.

He swore that as he descended into a hazy drunken sleep, the cat seemed to tilt its head, tail twitching, and regard him with a curious gaze.

 

The cat was gone the next morning.

 

* * *

 

The second time Athos saw the cat, it was waiting for him at the top of the stairs, sitting by the door to his room. It was a few days since that drunken night and he had all but forgotten about his strange visitor. He was sober this time, just back from a duty at the palace, so that cat had to be real.

It still hadn’t moved by the time he reached the top of the stairs, so he gave it a careful pat on the head before unlocking his door. By the time he had walked through the door and was about to shut it, the cat had disappeared. He hadn’t heard it move or felt it brush past him so he gave the room a look over to make sure it hadn’t followed him in before shutting the door. He was confused at where it had gone, but soon gave it no further thought.

 

* * *

 

Over the next few weeks the cat started to appear with increasing frequency, until it was waiting for him somewhere on the stairs every day. Sometimes it was even waiting in his room, though he had to unlock the door to get in and his window was shut. Despite him not feeding it, it seemed to like his company, rubbing its cheeks on Athos’ ankles until he reached down and gave it a pat on the head and curling up next to him during those drunken nights where he couldn’t even bear drinking in the same room as other people. He wondered where it lived; it obviously wasn’t a stray as it didn’t look like it was underfed and its fur long was too silky and clean to have lived on the streets. He’d asked his landlord and his wife about any stray cats in the area that liked hanging around the house, but they hadn’t seen any, especially not with the fur he described and his landlady actively shooed away any strays that came close. In fact the pattern in the fur wasn’t one he recognised; he figured that it was a new breed that had been brought to Paris by traders returning from the east. The cat’s body was a creamy colour, darkening to brown on its face, ears, tail and legs, but the paws were a bright white, as if it had walked though a tray of whitewash. Its eyes were a stunning blue.

But it was company that didn’t demand him to maintain his stoic musketeer mask and didn’t mind his vices so he allowed it to stay.

It was during one those drunken nights, tucked into a corner of the room atop his bed with only a bottle of wine and a four legged furball to keep him company that he discovered he was not the only one of the two that bore scars. Running his fingers through the long silky fur he felt a strange rough lump on the underlying skin, just between ribs next to the heart. Releasing the bottle clutched in his other hand he found another matching lump on the opposite side of the ribcage, that under closer inspection from alcohol glazed eyes revealed to be scars that had long healed. The cat mewled at him, seemingly ashamed at its defect. Athos gave the cat a drunken hug, careful to not be sloppy with his movements and hurt the one thing that seemed to be able to fight it’s way though his drunken and depressed haze – he had noticed that on bad nights like this, when he had feline company he woke up to less empty wine bottles than he had done previously.

He looked at the cat in his arms.

“It that why you keep spending your time round here? Does your real owner hurt you?” The cat just blinked at him. “If you are going to be sticking round here I’m going to have to give you a name.” He couldn’t keep calling it ‘Cat’ and he was a tom cat too, not an ‘it’.

A sudden memory that he hadn’t remembered in years provided him with the perfect name.

“Dumas, I’ll call you Dumas. It’s was the name of a hero in the stories that my mother told me and my brother when I was a child. I think it suits you.”

The cat seemed to meow an affirmative and started purring, Athos’ fingers giving him a scratch in his favourite place, in the spot between the back of his ears and the base of his neck.

“As I’ve just named you I probably feed you as well. I’ll get you something from the market when I come home tomorrow and I’m sure Madam Bonacieux will know what I should give you. Food is the least I can give you for staying with me when I’m like this.”

This particular bad patch was caused by coming across a wedding party outside a church, all members happy and cheering, reminding Athos of his own joyous day years ago, before his wife ruined everything. It didn’t help that the bride had dark flowing locks just like Anne.

He didn’t know exactly why (or even when, only that he was drunk at the time) he had started to pour out his problems and frustrations out onto Dumas, but it seemed to make his heart less heavy to tell someone that wouldn’t judge or walk away at his words.

He moved the half full bottle of wine that he had temporarily propped up against his pillow onto the floor and shifted down until he was lying down. Dumas stayed cradled against his chest.

He talked to the cat about his troubles for over an hour until he finally felt calm enough for sleep. Dumas seemed to sense that moment as he meowed quietly and scrambled off his chest to rub his head against Athos cheek. Athos smiled sleepily back at him and sunk his fingers into the warm soft fur.

He fell asleep, cat pressed against his side, purring, and wondered if he would be there in the morning or he would do one of his mysterious disappearing acts despite all exits out of the room being blocked.

 

* * *

 

Porthos cornered him one morning in the garrison, about a month or so after Dumas had first appeared, whilst Aramis made d’Artagnan go over musket drills by the targets.

“Are you alright?” He asked, concern creasing the skin between his eyes. “You’ve been drinking in your room more than usual. I’ve noticed that you are spending less time in the taverns, but at this point I don’t know if that is a good thing or not.”

“I’m fine, Porthos,” Athos replied. “I’ve just been needing some time alone at the moment. And don’t forget Aramis has been complaining about dragging me home, I bet he’s pleased for the rest and the time to sleep with more women.”

Porthos hummed and didn’t seem satisfied by his answer, but after searching his eyes for a moment he seemed to decide to let the matter drop.

“You let us know if you need us, right? Don’ want you feeling down when we can do something about it.” Athos nodded his agreement at his friend. Satisfied, for the moment anyway, Porthos left him to go distract d’Artagnan from the relentless (if essential) monotony of the rapid reloading and firing of his pistols.

Athos didn’t know exactly why he wanted to keep knowledge of Dumas away from his three friends, perhaps because they might lose the comforting closeness that had surrounded them by introducing them to him. And he was just a little bit worried that the feline might decide that one of the others (Aramis especially, his charming abilities also somehow extended to animals) made a better owner than he did (not that he actually owned the cat anyway) and would leave him bereft of the comfort he had become surprisingly accustomed to in such a short time. And whilst he knew that they wouldn’t make fun of him for it (apart from their usual good natured ribbing), Musketeers didn’t have ‘pets’, they just had their horses and some of the more well off had a hunting dog.

So far he had been lucky, the few times he had had to have been helped back to his rooms by Porthos, Aramis or d’Artagnan, Dumas was nowhere to be found, though he did appear after his friends had left. Perhaps the cat was shy; Dumas had watched him for a few days before he was bold enough to get close enough for a stroke.

He had to tell his friends at some point, but every time he had tried so far the words just hadn’t come out of his mouth. For once this was a good secret, nothing like the awful, shameful secret of his past and the existence of his wife, so why couldn’t he say it?

He sighed silently at himself and tried to banish the thought from his mind. Perhaps if he stopped thinking and worrying about the problem he might be able to bring it up in casual conversation next time it came onto the subject of animals. Or Dumas takes it into his own hands (or paws) and shows himself the next time his friends are in his rooms.

He notices Aramis looking at him strangely from across the courtyard and realises that he is standing and staring at nothing. He plasters a small smirk on his face and goes to tease d’Artagnan about his reloading times (he is improving, but a little gentle teasing won’t hurt, especially if he happens to mention a certain time when Porthos broke his ramming rod reloading his pistol with a little too much enthusiasm, right in front of the Captain).


	2. Sickness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It would seem that I am incapable of writing any fic without incorporating any amount of whump in it. Oops.

Athos trudged up the stairs, exhausted. Dumas, as expected, was waiting for him, initially laid sprawled, belly in the air, across the top step, but sat up and moved out of the way, seemingly concerned at the state of his adopted owner. Athos ignored him - he thought that if he bent over to give him a pat he might not stay upright, and he'd had enough of the concerned glances from the others, Aramis especially, whose temperature testing hands he'd been avoiding all day. His tired brain hadn't even registered that he shouldn't be getting concerned looks from a cat.

He had been feeling achy for the last day or so, and that wasn’t just because he and his fellow Inseparables had been in the saddle for the five days. They had been tasked by the king to take some letters to a few dukes near the coast and come back with replies. The weather had been terrible, raining all the time, which made the lengthy riding even more tedious. They had all agreed (or rather the other three agreed and he went along with it) to ride on and get to Paris so that they could sleep in their own beds that night rather than stop early and add another day in the saddle. He had tried to hide his illness, he didn’t want anybody delaying the letters getting to Paris on his account, and whilst he hadn’t really succeeded they didn’t stop him from continuing , though Aramis had been trying to test his temperature and see how sick he really was all day.

He dumped his saddlebags on the floor after shutting the door, Dumas following him in, and got to work stripping himself of jacket and weapons, made all the harder by numb, shaking fingers and wet leather. He finally dropped his weapons to the floor with a clatter and the jacket with a quiet thump and stumbled to the bed, collapsing onto it with enough force to make his aching head hurt all the more. He sat there, stupidly looking at his boots and trying to decide if the effort of taking them off was worth the pain. He decided that sleeping in a cold, wet, muddy bed was not worth the lack of effort and he had never shaken off some of the lessons he had learnt as a boy and lying in bed with his boots on was one of them.

He sat there for a few minutes, willing the ache in his head and body to calm, Dumas worriedly circling his feet and rubbing against his legs. He had almost fallen asleep sitting upright, eyes closing of their own accord and head falling forwards, when the cat called out, waking him up.

His head jerked upright at the surprise and started to hurt anew, but the adrenalin that was coursing though his body was just enough to override the pain long enough for him to wrestle his boots off. Exhausted, he slumped sideways so he was lying down. His shirt and trousers, though wet, were body warm and he considered it too difficult to get them off – the shirt was stuck to his skin and he didn’t think he could stand upright without falling over. The blanket was luckily within reach and he threw it over himself, quickly sinking into sleep again. Even Dumas concernedly sticking his face into his own and licking his forehead with a rough tongue couldn’t stop Athos from slipping into the warm embrace of Morpheus.

 

* * *

 

“Athos? Athos, look at me.” The voice was distant but insistent. He could feel cool hands on his face, tapping gently. He tried to fight those hands, but they easily overpowered him, deflecting his weakly flailing hands whilst the voice pierced through the fog in his mind. “Calm down, you’re safe. Look at me, Athos, look at me!”

He opened his eyes a crack and could see someone over him, though he couldn’t tell who it was. “You are very sick right now and you have got to let me help you. And at some point when you are better you have got to tell me when you got a cat.”

‘Cat, what cat?’ He thought. He could feel fur against his hands and a fuzzy brown head entered his eye line. ‘Oh, that cat.’

“Meow?” the cat seemed to ask.

He relaxed, and let the hands do what they wanted, feeling fingers pressing against his pulse point in his neck and a brush of skin pausing over his forehead. He heard a few steps on creaky floorboards and then a voice sounded.

“Aramis, I’ve got the water.” Aramis. This was Aramis. Why couldn’t he remember that?

“Thanks, Porthos. I’ve finally got him to wake up, but I don’t think he’s really lucid.”

A dark and hulking shape appeared by Aramis’ side, Porthos he assumed.

“Athos, mate, you’re really not looking too good. Why didn’t you say you were this sick?”

Aramis answered for him.

“Because he’s a stubborn idiot who puts the mission and everybody’s wishes before his own well being. The papers didn’t need to be delivered as soon as we could, and we all could have survived another night outside Paris. We didn’t have to ride in the rain so you could get sick. Stubborn git.” He sounded cross, but the hands weaving through his hair belied the underlying concern. He liked those hand there, the repetitive motion was making his head hurt less.

He felt Porthos settle at his side, the bed dipping under his weight, and then a cool wet cloth sliding across the back of his fingers.

“’E’s still got mud on his hands,” Porthos said quietly, disgruntled as the state of his friend.

“He is a mess,” he heard Aramis mutter, “hand me that rag, let’s try and get his fever down.”

The comforting hands disappeared and he heard a keening noise at the loss, not realising that he was the one making it. Aramis shushed him and smoothed another wet cloth across his brow.

“Go to sleep, Athos. We’ll look after you.” As he succumbed to sleep he felt a small body settle against his shoulder and a whiskered face press against his own.  
 

* * *

 

He doesn't remember much after that, only the taste of the vile cocktails of herbs that Aramis forces him to drink that are thrown up again a few minutes later and the feeling of soft fur clutched in his grasping fingers. Everything else is wiped away in the all encompassing heat. The tiny part of him that is somehow still lucid wonders if he is finally in hell, though that same part of him didn't think that cats belonged in Lucifer’s realm.

 

* * *

 

Athos cracked open his eyes and squinted at the scene before him; his three friends were sitting on his floor and were teasing his cat with a piece string. They were quietly chatting amongst themselves. "Why has Athos got a cat? I wouldn’t have pegged him as an animal lover.” Aramis.

“I dunno. But he takes good care of all the horses, especially his Roger.” Porthos.

“Come here Kitty. I wonder what Athos calls you.” D’Artagnan. "Dumas," he croaked, throat burning, "I've been calling him Dumas, though I don't know who his real owners are. He just keeps hanging around here." Aramis got up and sat on the edge of the bed carefully and laid the back of his hand on his friend's forehead, feeling the temperature. He smiled. "You're awake! Your temperature has gone down a bit. How are you feeling?" He gave a grunt in reply; judging by that all three of them were here, he must have been in a bad way. And he was felling terrible and he knew Aramis would be able to tell.

Aramis leant away from him to reach a beaker of water from the bedside table and used one hand to prop up his head to help him drink. The water was cool and fresh and did wonders for soothing his sore throat. Once he had drank his fill he was carefully rested back onto his pillows. “We came to check on you the morning after we got back. It’s been three days since then. You were still wearing the same clothes that you were wearing in the rain, you must have still been soaked through when you fell asleep.”

“They were warm. And I had a hard enough time just getting my boots off.”

“Why didn’t you tell us you were this sick? You must have been feeling the symptoms for a few days. We could have stopped at an inn overnight and stayed out of the rain. If we had you might have not gotten this sick.” Athos didn’t reply and looked away. Aramis rolled his eyes at him, this was a conversation they had had in many guises over their years of friendship. Aramis patted the sick man on the shoulder and swept a hand across his forehead again as he stood up.

“You’re still a bit warm, but at least you’ve stopped feeling like we could use you to cook food on. Speaking of food, I’ll just get you some. You’ve got to eat it, you’ve been throwing up what we’ve given you before.”

“Aramis, no,” he moaned, still feeling nauseous, even at just the thought of food, “maybe later.”

“You need to eat something, Athos, even if it is just a little.” Aramis stroked his arm in a comforting manner. “I won’t force you to have more than a mouthful if you think you are going to throw up. But sometimes hunger can make you feel sicker that you really are so you’ve got to at least try. I’ll see if your landlady has any of that beef stew left from the dinner she made us last night. She has been quite worried and has been feeding us whilst we’ve been looking after you, though if she was more worried about your health or the stain on her reputation if you died under her roof, I couldn’t say.”

Dumas, seemingly bored of chasing the string, noticed Athos was awake and bounded over to him, gracefully leaping onto the bed and rubbing his head again his chin. Athos reached up a shaking hand and gave him a long stroke down his back.

“Have they been looking after you?” He asks in a low voice. “Thank you for staying with me. I would have thought you would have disappeared as soon as the others came along. See, they are not so scary as they might first appear.”

Dumas gives a meow in reply and rubs his forehead on the sick man’s chin.

Aramis smiled to himself at this private display of affection. It was nice to see his friend, usually so emotionally closed off and stoic, to be showing his softer side and seemingly happy about it too.

“Now you two behave whilst I’m downstairs,” says Aramis, to both man and cat. ”And if you are really good I’ll get d’Artagnan to get you some of those sweet pastries you like.” Aramis gives him a wide cheeky grin. Athos just glares at him, they both know that he isn’t currently able to get up, let alone cause any sort of mischief, and it was Aramis (or more increasingly d’Artagnan) that usually caused trouble anyway.

Dumas, after presumably realising that his adopted owner was not going to die, was coaxed back onto the floor by Porthos waving the feather out of Aramis’ hat. Aramis scowled and swiped it out of his friend’s hands before the cat could get his paws on it.

With the feline gone he left the sick man alone in his bed again. His disappointment at being left must have shown on his face as Aramis, after successfully reuniting his hat with its customary feather, tried and failed to keep a grin off his face.

Athos falls asleep again in moments and doesn’t awaken until he is gently shaken by the shoulder.

“Time to eat,” says Aramis cheerfully, holding a bowl of stew and a small crust of bread in one hand. The smell of the food is good but it is not as appetising as it usually is, in fact it was making him feel a little queasy. He wrinkles his nose up in disinterest but accepts the bowl and bread, knowing from previous experience that his friend wouldn’t stop pestering and cajoling until he had at least a few bites to eat. It was easier to relent than to fight the mothering force that was Aramis.

Dumas, apparently bored again of the attention he was getting from d’Artagnan and Porthos, comes back over, curious about the new smell, and settles at Athos’ opposite side, plastering himself along his arm and purring in his ear.

Athos starts to slowly eat under Aramis’ glare, who moves to join his friends on the floor once he was satisfied that the patent would continue eating without his scrutiny.

Athos sneaks the cat the lumps of meat when he thinks Aramis isn’t looking. Aramis on the other hand knows what he is doing but doesn’t mention it, noticing that whilst he attention was on Dumas he was eating more than he seemed to realise, as shown by the surprised look at the bottom of the bowl as the bread he was using to mop up the both came up dry.

As he is eating Athos thinks about the cat at his side. He didn’t know why he thought keeping knowledge of Dumas away from his friends was a good idea, the animal seemed very faithful to him. Even being distracted by some feathers on a string couldn’t keep the cat away from his side for very long.

 

* * *

 

He spends the next few days sequestered in his rooms on strict bed rest, fighting off the end of his fever. With Dumas as company the time didn’t pass as slowly as it had on previous occasions where he had been shut in his rooms. His friends all paid him visits as often and for as long as they could, Aramis fussing over him, checking his temperature and making sure that his landlady, who Aramis had quickly charmed into doing his bidding as soon as Athos had moved into the building a few years ago, was giving him enough food and that he was eating it. Porthos brought him news from the garrison and d’Artagnan lent him books. Even Captain Treville gave a fleeting visit to check on his health and to see the cat that the three other Inseparables were talking incessantly about. Dumas didn’t seem to like the stranger and spent the Captain’s entire visit huddled at Athos’ side, glowering at the visitor from underneath the blankets.

 

* * *

 

The next couple of months fly past surprisingly quickly for Athos, who for once looks forwards to the company he gets at home rather than grudging staggering there after being kicked out of the taverns. He is now firmly attached to this animal and wonders why he had never thought about getting a pet before.

But some cynical part of his mind secretly knows that this happiness cannot last and something will happen to break his heart. He manages to ignore and then forget about that part of his brain but fate has different ideas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Small cliff hanger. Hehehe. The next chapter is the weird one. See you next week! :)


	3. Goodbye

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Judging by the comments on the previous chapter you might need to get a hot drink, a blanket and a box of tissues before starting this chapter. There are also mentions of historical animal cruelty/death in this one.

One evening, after a tedious afternoon guarding the royal family as they entertained some visiting dignitaries in the palace gardens, Athos found Dumas lying forlornly on the bed. This was highly unusual as he usually came and greeted the Musketeer, appearing out of the shadows or some other strange place, demanding attention. Athos sat beside him on the bed and gave him a scratch on the head, which he pressed into.

“What’s wrong with you today, hmm?” He asks the cat.

“Mroww,” groans Dumas in reply, pressing up against his leg.

“I can take you to Aramis if you are feeling unwell. He’s never worked on anything other than humans but he might be able to help. Or d’Artagnan, he might know about cats, growing up on a farm.” Dumas sat up and climbed into Athos lap, rubbing their faces together. The Musketeer huffs in amusement as he rubs away the tingling in his face from the cat’s tickling whiskers.

There was a knock on the door and Dumas dived under the bed. It would seem that the cat is still afraid of strangers. Behind the door is the landlady carrying Athos’ dinner on a tray, who hands it to him without entering the room.

Man and cat settle at the small, worn table and Athos starts eating the hearty fare, hungry after a boring day watching other feast on rich and exotic delights. Dumas sniffed at the food but doesn’t eat anything, he never does. Athos guesses that he eats somewhere else before spending his evening with him.

Food consumed he set the tray and used crockery and utensils outside his room on the landing and settled on the bed with a text on battle techniques that Treville wanted his opinion of.

As he read his book he noticed that Dumas kept pacing around a spot in front of the closed door. He had tried distracting the feline but after a while he decided to let him roam, ignoring him in favour of the book. Dumas would demand his attention if he wanted it.

Athos had just decided to finish the chapter he was on before retiring for bed when a small body jumped up onto the bed beside him and pushed it’s dark head between his face and the book.

“What have you been doing?” The Musketeer asks of the cat, giving him a scratch under the chin. Dumas turned and knocked the book out of Athos’ hands with a swipe of his paw and leapt onto the ground. Surprised, Athos got up and joined Dumas at the floorboard that he had been circling around earlier but now the cat was scratching at it, as if he was trying to dig through it. He then carefully grabbed the fabric of Athos’ sleeve in his teeth and tugged until his hand was resting on the wooden floor, cat lying beside it. Clearly the cat was trying to tell him something.

Athos looked at the feline, confused.

“Do you want to get under here?” Dumas meowed in reply and reached out with a white paw to scratch at the wood again. Athos looked round and tried to find something to lift the floorboard; at this time of night his landlord would be asleep and wouldn’t appreciate being woken up and asked if he had a hammer, crowbar or other useful tool. He manages to find a broken main gauche that he had been meaning to take to the garrison’s blacksmith to repair or replace the snapped blade and tries to work it under the head of one of the nails.

The first nail came out easily but the second was refusing to budge and Athos was having a hard time getting it out without cutting himself on the blade of the main gauche. But with careful application of force and a bit of minor cursing the nail finally slipped out of the wood with a squeak and the floorboard was free.

Lifting it gently under a pair of watchful sapphire eyes he was surprised to find something underneath. There in the cavity between the floors was the skeleton of a small animal, a long iron nail still driven across the delicate ribcage. Dumas gave a pitiful meow and poked the skull with his black nose. Without thinking Athos’ hand lifted to stroke his cat, fingers deftly finding the two scars under the fur that matched the skeleton with unnerving accuracy. Dumas turned to look at him and gave another small meow. Somehow Athos knew exactly what Dumas was showing him.

“Is this you?” He had heard of the old wives tale of hammering an iron nail thought the heart of a living cat, the body then placed at the entrance of the property, which was supposed to ward off the devil and his evil spirits. It would seem that a previous tenant believed in the practice. He had also heard of wandering spirits that had died a violent death that could never find peace until their body had been properly put to rest.

If his cat was the restless spirit of the cat buried beneath his floorboards it would explain everything - how he got in and out of the room when the door and windows were shut, why his landlord knew nothing of a local cat, why Dumas was never seen outside of his building, why he never ate.

Dumas, in answer to the question, rubbed his head against Athos’ hip and purred. Athos replaced the floorboard, leaving it loose and picked his cat up and hugged him.

“I’ll bury you tomorrow. I’ll find you some nice things and I’ll give you a good send off. You’ve helped me, now I can help you.” The cat in his arms sagged in relief and purred louder. “One last night and then you’ll be at peace.”

They spent the night curled around each other as had become their custom.

 

* * *

 

The next day as Athos went on his duties he kept an eye out for the best spot to bury his little friend. The thought of Dumas leaving his life forever hadn't quite sunk in, though what little he knew about ghosts told him that that was the most likely scenario. As he past the edges of the royal gardens by the river he thought he had found the best place. It was quiet, away from the main thoroughfares and had a good view of both the gardens and the city. If he didn't know that he would most likely be buried in the Musketeer's graveyard at the end of his life, when ever that would be, he would have liked to be buried in a place like this.

A trip to the market, at day’s end, secured two more essential items for the funeral, a small but sturdy wooden box with a hinged lid and a scrap of soft fabric to line the box. He also borrowed a spade off his landlord before mounting the stairs, box slung under one arm.

Dumas was sat on his bed, waiting and looking solemn, as if he knew that these hours were the last few he would have on this earth. Athos joined him, showing the cat the box and the lining as they rested in his lap. Dumas rested his white front paws on the edge of the box so that he could lean in and give the insides a sniff. Seemingly satisfied, he leapt off the bed and sat expectantly by the loose floorboard.

Athos joined him and carefully lifted the plank of wood, exposing the cat skeleton once again. Placing the open box by the hole, he started to lift the bones one by one and placing them carefully in the box in the same position as he had found them. When he lifted the skull Dumas gave a mournful meow and bumped his nose to it. Athos cave him a sympathetic stroke down his back and put the skull in its position in the box. When he got to the ribcage he picked it up carefully and examined it before grasping the long nail and pulling it free from the ribs. The bones went into the box, the nail went on the dresser as furthest away as he could reach. His cat was not going to be buried with his murder weapon.

As the last bone went in, Dumas moved from his position by the box, sitting with his paws up on the lip, examining Athos’ every move, and pushed the lid down. Athos caught it before it could slam shut and closed it carefully instead.

Box once more under his arm, though he was carrying it with more care this time, Athos and Dumas descended the stairs, pausing to grab the spade resting against the wall at the bottom of the stairs in his free hand, and walked out into the streets of Paris. The light was just starting to dim as night-time approached and the streets were starting to empty, so no one paid much attention to the pair as they walked to the spot Athos had chosen to bury the skeleton of his cat. He had half expected Dumas to disappear as they exited the building as he had never seen the cat outside of it, but he decided that the ghost must have had to keep close to his remains, and as Athos was carrying them, he had the cat by his side.

He had decided against wearing his full musketeer regailer, but not only would he have only drawn attention to himself (to others he was only burying a cat, not an honourable soldier who had given up his life in the service of his king) but he was there as a grateful friend not a musketeer. Soon they were there, man, ghost and the skeleton of a dead cat, standing under a tree by the river.

Dumas gave the area a quick examine before lying down on the ground and pointing with his nose at a point before him.

Spade at the point indicated, Athos started to dig.

Once the hole was big enough for the box to fit in he stopped and knelt beside the box and the cat.

“I think it is time for your soul to rest, Dumas,” said Athos picking up the box and cradling it in his arms for a second before placing it carefully in the ground. “I hope you finally find peace. I’ll miss you.”

The cat rubbed himself against his side, purring, and he ran his fingers through the fur, trying to memorise the feeling. Dumas allowed this for a few seconds before moving to the pile of loose earth and digging with his paws, filling the hole and turning his white feet a dirty brown. Athos joined in and soon the little casket was covered with a small mound of earth.

Athos picked up Dumas and held him in his lap, knowing this would be the last time, and cleaned their hands and paws with a handkerchief. Clean once again he cradled the cat to his chest and buried his face in the fur, trying to hold back tears that threatened to fall.

He was tempted to unbury the box and keep the remains with him so that Dumas would stay with him, but he knew that the cat was a restless spirit and needed to be put to rest. It would be unfair to the cat, who had only brought him happiness and kindness.

After a few minutes Dumas let out a plaintive cry and wriggled out of the man’s grasp. He sat on the mound of earth and head butted Athos as if trying to get him to leave. The man understood that it was time to say goodbye and stood up slowly, giving Dumas a scratch behind the ears one last time.

“Goodbye Dumas. Thank you for helping a broken man see that there is some good left in the world. Rest in peace, I’ll miss you.” The cat gave a meow in reply, seemingly saying thank you. Athos grabbed the spade and walked away, tears down his face, thankful that by now the streets would be empty in the dark. Turning back as he reached the corner he took one last look at the grave site.

Dumas was still sitting over his skeleton, silhouetted from behind by moonlight reflected off the calm river, looking regal as only a cat can.

With a heavy heart Athos walked away from the animal that had brought him so much happiness and peace over the last few months.

 

* * *

 

The next morning Aramis was manhandled down an alleyway by Porthos, just before passing through the garrison’s entrance archway. He looked at his friend, confused.

“Porthos, what?”

“Athos is looking upset,” he replied. “Like how he was when he first joined the Musketeers. You know you’re better at talking to him when he’s like this than me. I’ll hold off the whelp so you can talk to him for a few minutes.”

“I’ll go see what’s wrong.” Aramis said, patting Porthos on the arm as he passed.

Entering the garrison he spotted Athos sitting at the long table, arms crossed on the wood before him, head hanging and staring blindly at the floor. He was the picture of misery.

Sitting down beside him, Aramis regarded his morose friend.

“Athos, what’s happened? I haven’t seen you this depressed in months! Is it Dumas?”

“Dumas is gone.”

“He’ll come back. You know how cats are, he’s probably after a lady. A few days and he’ll be back, he’s too fond of you to run off for too long.” Athos shook his head.

“I think he’s gone forever.” He tried to think of a way to explain what happened without Aramis thinking he had gone crazy. “Last time I saw him he seemed to be saying goodbye.” He had made friends with the ghost of a cat, perhaps he _had_ gone crazy.

Aramis wrapped an arm around his friend’s shoulders and drew him into a hug. He could tell how upset Athos really was.

“I’ll make sure to tell Porthos and d’Artagnan and we’ll keep an eye out during our patrols, we’ll find him. If I’d known how happy that cat made you, I would have got you one years ago! If he doesn’t come back in a week or two we’ll get you another cat. I know it won’t be the same as Dumas, but it’ll be something for you to go home to again.” He felt Athos nod against his shoulder as he relaxed into the embrace. After being touch-starved for so long, the ability to stroke and hug a living being without being judged or leaving himself open to weakness must have been liberating. No wonder Athos was missing him.

Spotting Porthos and d’Artagnan come through the gate Athos straightened up, but still looked a bit miserable. D’Artagnan looked confused and concerned at the state of his mentor.

“Are you ok, Athos?” Aramis answered for him.

“Dumas is missing. I said we’ll keep an eye out for him.”

A clatter of boots and voice called from above.

“You four. My office.”

By the time they had reached Treville’s office Athos had schooled his features into his usual impassiveness, though those that knew him well could still tell that something was troubling him. Treville was included in that small number.

“Is everything alright, Athos?”

“Yes, Sir,” he replied “My cat is missing. Nothing to worry about.” Treville looked like he was not satisfied with that answer but didn’t comment on it.

 

* * *

 

For the next few days Athos performed his duties with his usual efficiency, but he had lost the peaceful and satisfied calm that he had gained whilst Dumas was around. He had even gone back onto the drink and was drinking as much as he usually had before the business with his ex-wife. His friends didn’t know what to do. Dumas had only been a cat but he had wormed his way into Athos’ soul and it didn’t look like he was coming back. Not even Porthos’ contacts in the Court could proved that Dumas had even existed, let alone any knowledge of where he was now. The only thing that they had discovered was that after stumbling drunk out of the taverns he visited a patch of ground by the river and just stood there, bottle in hand, staring silently before staggering home an hour later.

 

* * *

 

Athos sat in the corner of the tavern, drinking heavily in the shadows. He knew that his friends were watching him concerned from across the room but he didn’t care.

He felt like there was almost not point to his life anymore. Twice now he thought he had found happiness and both times that happiness had been ripped from him. Sure he still had Aramis, Porthos and d’Artagnan, but they were Musketeers, they led dangerous lives and they could be taken from him any day. He could only hope that he would go before them. His friends and his duty may have been the reason to get up in the mornings, but Dumas had been the reason to go home and now that he was gone he felt like a piece of him was missing.

He took another swig from the bottle and tried to drown out the memories.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Dumas is a ghost. I told you this story was weird!   
> The reason Dumas can understand Athos (he could, I tried to make it obvious but I’m no expert in cat behaviour) is that he has been around long enough (think 50+ years) to learn to understand basic language. He showed himself only to Athos as he could see that they shared the same broken feelings and he only trusted someone like him to finally lay him to rest as past experience with people ended badly (and with a nail through his heart). The cat + nail charm is completely my invention so don’t ever try it!   
> One more chapter to go – it ends happily, I promise!


	4. New Beginnings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the promised happy ending. And I hope everybody had a happy and safe Halloween/Samhain!

Athos climbed the stairs to his lodgings to deposit his cloak and sword before another night of drinking. His room felt empty now that the ghost had gone. Even before the cat had started appearing he had felt some sort of presence there that he had just chalked up to being drunk. It seems that it was Dumas haunting the room before revealing himself to find solace in another tortured soul.

Athos opened the door and then paused, standing in shock in the doorway at the site of a very familiar cat sitting on his bed. He quickly crossed the room, shutting the door behind him without tearing his eyes away from the feline before him in case he disappeared. He collapsed onto the bed, knees weak in relief at seeing his friend again.

“Dumas?” He asked quietly, hoping that his eyes were not deceiving him. The cat meowed a positive. “Are you here to stay?” He heart sunk at the negative noise.

But then the ghost did something unexpected. He buried his face in the folds of the blanket beside him and came out with a tiny kitten grasped by the scruff in his teeth. The tiny bundle of fur was deposited in the man’s lap.

“Is this for me?” The cat seemed to nod. “Thank you, Dumas.” Athos reached out and stroked the cat on the head. It was then he realised that the ghost was quickly disappearing from the feet up. He stroked the ghost one more time before he vanished completely with a quiet meow and soon all Athos was touching was air. With a watery smile he turned his attention onto the kitten in his lap.

The kitten was shivering violently, fur completely wet and covered with dirt and grime. It was also mewling pathetically. It could have only been a few weeks old, at the most.

Athos grabbed the blanket and rubbed the kitten with it, trying to dry it, all thoughts of going out drinking had left his mind. Satisfied that he had got the worst of the wet off, he tucked the still shivering kitten against his stomach under his shirt whilst he shrugged off his cloak, jacket and weapons, which he realised he still hadn’t taken off after discovering what was waiting for him in his room. Shifting the kitten so that it was against his chest, he held the lump under his shirt with a hand and descended the stairs to beg his landlady for a bowl of warm water, some soft, clean rags and a saucer of warm milk. She agreed to bring them up, cooing in delight when he showed her the dirty bundle of fur.

“I found it in an ally” was his reply to her question about where he had gotten a kitten from. He had to lie as he couldn’t really tell her the truth. She gave it one careful stroke with a finger before chivvying him out of her kitchen so that she could heat up some water and find some suitable cloths.

Back up in his rooms Athos settled crossed legged on the floor by the lit fire and dragged the stool across in lieu of a table. The kitten was placed on a folded blanket near the fire in an attempt to stop its shivering.

His landlady brought up the bowl of water and saucer of milk and placed them on the stool before pulling out the cloths out of a pocket and handing them to him.

As she left the room Athos drew the blanket towards himself, kitten perched on top, and put them in his lap. Lifting the kitten and placing it in the bowl of warm water, supported from underneath with his hand so that it didn’t drown, make the tiny thing mewl louder and more insistently. He crooned to it to try and calm it as he used one of the rags to clean the dirty fur.

“Shush, little one, I’m only trying to get you clean. I’ll have you warm and dry in no time. I wonder where Dumas found you. You should be with your mum, not a broken soul like me.” The kitten started to calm and quieten down as its shivering finally stopped in the warm water.

Once he started to dry the kitten with one of the dry rags, back on the blanket in his lap, he could finally see its true colours. It was a pale cream all over, apart from whiter paws and the back of its floppy ears and the fur around its nose were a light brown. Its eyes were a pale sapphire. It looked just like a miniature Dumas.

Turning the kitten to dry its chest, white paws hanging in the air, he found that she was a girl. She mewed at him, little nose pointing towards the saucer of milk where she could smell food.

Athos grinned at her, and once he was satisfied that she was clean and towel dried he placed the saucer of milk in his lap and let her up. Immediately the kitten stuck her nose into the white liquid and a little pink tongue appeared, desperately lapping up the milk. Who knows when she last had anything to eat? Athos vowed to never let the tiny thing go hungry ever again.

When she had eaten her fill Athos cleaned her fur; she had managed to get her face covered in milk and had even stepped into the saucer in her enthusiasm. The saucer and remaining milk were left on the stool near the fire for her to feed on during the night. He may not know much about raising animals, but thanks to the hunting dog puppies that he and his brother had been allowed to help look after, he knew that the kitten would need to be fed several times during the night.

Clean once more, fur starting to dry in the heat of the fire, the kitten gave a big yawn, showing off all her tiny, pointy teeth, circled the blanket twice then curled up in the middle and fell asleep.

Carefully, as not to wake her, Athos picked the blanket and deposited on the bed. After making sure that the fire grate was in place and the door locked, he joined the kitten on the bed.

As he curled around his fluff ball protectively he realised what his sly ghost of a cat had done. As he could no longer keep him company he had found something else that needed him as much as he had needed Dumas. He had found a replacement that looked like she otherwise would have died and would keep him company for the rest of their lives. For the first time in a week he fell asleep with a smile on his face.

 

* * *

 

The next morning found Porthos and Aramis trying to placate a concerned d’Artagnan.

“Why didn’t we go and check on him? He could have gotten hurt, or ended up drunk in a ditch!”

“Athos can take care of himself, even whilst drunk.” Aramis replied. “He probably just needed a night to drink on his own without us and other people watching him. If he’s not here by roll call, then we’ll look for him.”

“He’s never been late for roll call,” stated Porthos, “no matter how much he drinks the night before. Anyway it’s a moot point. Here he is now.”

The three looked at him striding through the gate and were astonished. Where they were expecting a man slouching as he walked and hiding his hung-over eyes from the sun with the brim of his hat as he had done for the last week, they found Athos walking upright and proud with clear eyes, though he did look a little tired around the edges.

D’Artagnan was overjoyed at seeing his mentor look like his normal self again.

“Athos!” He exclaimed. “You look happier today. Did you find Dumas?” Athos gave a bittersweet smile and shook his head.

“Dumas is not coming back. I’ll explain it to you one day. But for now I have this little thing to look after.” The three Inseparables were shocked at the tiny kitten that he drew out of one of his pockets and cradled her in his hands, holding her aloft so that his friends could get a good view. She gave a tiny mew in protest of being taken out of her warm nest. “She needs a name and I thought after all that you have done for me you could have the honour of naming her.”

A voice called them from above.

“You four, my off....“ the voice broke off, confused. “Athos, is that a kitten?” He nodded and tucked her safely away in his pocket again before leading the others up the wooden stairs to Treville’s office.

“What are you doing with a kitten, Athos?” Treville asked once the door had shut behind them. He sounded exasperated; he may be used to the four’s antics and eccentricities, but still they managed to surprise him.

“I found her in an ally last night,” he replied, using the same excuse he had given to his landlady.

“She was soaking wet and shivering. I was hoping to keep her with me for today, she needs feeding every few hours, though if I’m needed outside the garrison I can ask Serge to look after her.”

Treville resisted the urge to hide his face in his hands. It would seem that the picking up of strays was catching, first a boy and now a kitten. What next?

“You four have been tasked by the king to run messages for him round the city. As far as I’m aware they do not hold much importance, though that doesn’t mean that you can let your guard down. It’s up to you Athos whether you keep the kitten with you, it is your responsibility.”

“She,” said Aramis, a cheeky smile on his face. “She is a girl kitten.” Said girl kitten poked her head out of Athos’ pocket and let out a high pitched meow. Treville sighed.

“ _She_ is your responsibility. Now get out, the four of you, the king is waiting. I’ve got roll call to do.”

On his way to the stables he took a detour to the kitchen to see if Serge had any milk spare for later; he was strangely loath to let the kitten out of his sight and had even refused his landlady’s offer of kitten-sitting for the day. He knew that even the easiest of errands could turn nasty in a second, but he still wanted her by his side. If anything did happen, he would look after her, no matter what.

Serge doted on the little kitten as soon as he laid eyes on her and promised to save the freshest milk for her. It was amusing to see how something so tiny and helpless could melt even the most battle-hardened of hearts.

The day was as easy as predicted and the kitten spent it in the warm, safe confines of Athos’ jacket pocket, though she poked a curious head out now and again to see the sites of Paris. As promised, Serge had saved the best milk for her and she lapped it up gratefully every visit to the kitchens. That evening was spent in the tavern, the four Musketeers at a corner table away from prying eyes as the kitten explored the table top, sniffing their fingers (d’Artagnan, who as a farm boy had knowledge of these things, said that it was best to get her used to strange sights and sounds from an early age, though perhaps she had seen too much in one day as she quickly curled up in the crook of Athos’ elbow and went to sleep). After much deliberation and discussion, the kitten was called Anouk . In a fit of sentimentality, Aramis even christened her with a drop of wine on her tiny pale forehead.

 

* * *

 

Three years later... "I've brought d'Artagnan a visitor!" Athos strode into the garrison with a small grin on his face and a cat across his shoulders. In the last few years it had become a common sight to see the previously withdrawn man walk around with his feline companion around his neck like a living scarf. Aramis gave Anouk a scratch behind the ears and followed Athos into the garrison building. D'Artagnan was bed bound due to a broken leg and was getting restless, especially as the other three of the inseparables had a mission calling them away from his side for a few days. It was common now to find Athos leaving Anouk in Serge's care if he had duties that meant that he couldn't look after her for a few days. As man and cat entered the room d'Artagnan immediately brightened up and held out his arms towards the animal. " Anouk!" The feline in question used Athos' arm as a climbing post as she made her way down to the bed. She jumped the last foot and landed in the young man's lap, purring. D'Art immediately started stroking her and looked up to his mentor expectantly. "Is she staying?" Athos gave a small smile. "Just until we get back. I thought you might like the company." "Thank you!" He replied. "I'll make sure she's well looked after." "You'll spoil her, you mean. We'll see you in a few days." He gave Anouk one last stroke and followed Aramis out to the stables. In the three years since Dumas had given her to him, Anouk had grown from the tiny kitten into a sleek and beautiful adult. Her face, legs, ears and tail had darkened whilst her paws had stayed pure white. The rest of her was covered with long cream fur that was silky to the touch. Her eyes had darkened into a vivid blue, rivalling the Queen’s sapphires in intensity. And as she had grown, Athos had grown too. No longer did he spend the evenings sulking at a darkened table in a tavern with only a bottle of wine for company. Now he went out with his friends and even managed some complementary comments towards the recruits as he trained them. He may not have become as easy going and sociable as Aramis, but the sharp corners of his personality had been softened. That didn't mean he couldn't be stern if needed, but now he was more likely to accept help and company if offered and needed. Everyone approved of the change, even Treville commented on it. Sure, the Red Guards had had something to say about a Musketeer owning a kitten, but that matter was quickly put to bed after several fist fights, especially after one of them got a mauling from the 'defenceless' kitten one night she had followed them to the tavern. It was surprising how much damage such a small bundle of fur could do; that guard will carry those facial scars for the rest of his life. All the Red Guards gave Anouk a wide berth after that. D’Artagnan was honoured to be one of the very few people Athos trusted to look after his faithful feline.

 

* * *

 

Four days later Porthos woke to pain in his head and shoulder and a loud incessant meowing in his ears. He cracked his eyes open to find a whiskered face close to his. Using a, thankfully pain free, hand he gently pushed Anouk away and could see d’Artagnan sitting on a chair nearby, splinted leg propped up on a stool. "Porthos, you’re awake! Anouk seemed very insistent that you wake up, even Athos couldn't get her away from your side! “Which made it very difficult for the rest of us to get to sleep!” Called Aramis from the next bed along. “Damned cat!” He joked, not angry at the cat for her loud noises and relieved that his friend had finally decided to wake up. “What happened?” Porthos asked, the last thing he remembered was riding through woodland.

“We were ambushed,” replied Athos, walking through the door of the infirmary. “Aramis took a shot to the leg and you got thrown from your horse, dislocating your shoulder and knocking you out. You’ve been in and out of consciousness for hours. Anouk was starting to get concerned.”

“The papers?”

“Aramis is still a good shot, even when he can’t stand. Our attackers were stupid enough to think he wasn’t a bother so they concentrated on me. Aramis picked them off one by one. The papers are safe; I’ve just got back from putting them into the Kings hands.”

Porthos relaxed back into the pillows behind him in relief.

“I take it by your whining, Aramis, the leg wound isn’t too bad.”

“I don’t whine,” was the indignant reply. D’Artagnan laughed and Athos was smiling. “The shot didn’t hit the bone, but I’ve still got to be off it for a few weeks. Looks like I’m keeping d’Artagnan company for a while.”

Anouk, as she had managed to wake Porthos up, had climbed down from the bed and was now walking in circles and weaving round her master’s feet, rubbing her face against his leather boots. She stopped and reared up on her hind legs, front paws on Athos’ knee, and started meowing at him. Athos grinned and reached down to give her a stroke.

“Excuse me gentlemen, I believe that this one knows that it is dinner time.” At the words ‘dinner time’ Anouk walked towards the door and turned to see if she was being followed. Finding out that she was not, she gave an indignant yowl. Athos hurried to her side and both headed towards the kitchens. Once they were out of earshot, Aramis remarked,

“I think we know who owns who there.”

Porthos fell asleep with a smile on his face and laughing in his ears.

 

END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end!  
> Anouk is a lilac pointed Birman (and a real cat, not a ghost).  
> I hope this story wasn’t too weird for you and you liked it. There are two more stories to add to this series (though this is the only one with Dumas), one is complete and will probably be posted near my birthday at the end of November, the other is a work in progress and there is another that is still in the planning stages. Feel free to write (or art, etc) in this verse, just ask first (I’ll say yes) so that we don’t end up writing the same plot lines.  
> If you have any questions or ideas for this series you can find me at my Tumblr (same name as here) where I also have a fic posting schedule for the rest of the year!


End file.
